When Potions Go Wrong
by drinehart
Summary: Just random silliness, set after the Slytherins try to scare Harry during the Quidditch match by appearing dressed as dementors.


**When Potions Go Wrong**

"And then a final two stirs clockwise," Harry Potter said, stirring the ugly mustard-colored mixture in his cauldron. "Turn the heat down to low" Harry used his wand to tap the sticks under the cauldron "and let it simmer for half an hour and it's done."

His best friend, Ron Weasley, snickered. "So how are we going to get Malfoy to drink it?"

"Fred said he'd put a few drops in whatever Malfoy's drinking for dinner. We'll walk up to him together, and while he's sneering at me, Fred'll do it." Harry was looking at the potion with his eyes narrowed slightly. "I dunno, Ron. I'm not sure it's right. The book says it should be a light yellow and smooth. Does that look light yellow and smooth to you?"

Ron looked into the mixture in the cauldron, which went "gloop".

"Well, it's yellow_-ish,_ isn't it? And it's smooth, sort of, even if it is a little thick. But then so's Malfoy."

Harry laughed.

"This is going to be great. Ten minutes after he drinks this, he'll smell like a week-old dead fish. No one'll get near him for days."

"Serves the slimy little git right, doesn't it, after he and his nasty little friends pretended to be dementors so we'd lose the match against Ravenclaw." Ron glowered. "Too bad we can't get Flint, Crabbe and Goyle at the same time."

Harry laughed. "Crabbe and Goyle suffer enough just being Crabbe and Goyle; how much more can we do to them? I'd like to get Flint, though. There's enough here, if it keeps long enough, we could do Flint later."

"Yeah, that'd be cool. C'mon, let's play some chess while we wait."

After Ron soundly trounced Harry, they checked on the potion.

"I dunno, Ron," Harry said. "It's sort of yellow, and it's kinda smooth, but that just doesn't look right to me."

"C'mon, what are you worrying about? It's only Malfoy. Maybe we'll get lucky and it'll put him in the hospital for a month."

Harry shrugged and scooped some into a small bottle, then left for dinner in the Great Hall.

Fred (or possibly George, since Harry was never entirely sure which was which) was waiting at the door. "Did you get it? This is going to be great, that cocky little twit deserves it."

Harry slipped Fred (or was it George?) the bottle, and the three of them entered the Great Hall.

Draco was at the Slytherin table, surrounded by the usual crowd: Crabbe and Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, Adrian Pucey, Daphne Greengrass, and a couple of older Slytherins Harry didn't recognize. As usual, Draco was sounding off about something and everyone else was listening and laughing while they ate. As the Gryffyndor trio approached, Harry heard him say, "…and of course Snape told me I didn't have to do detention after McGonagall left, so we got away scot-free, even if Potter didn't fall off his broom." And Draco mimed Harry pitching forward off his broom and flailing wildly.

The Slytherins laughed uproariously; Crabbe spit pumpkin juice on Goyle. Goyle grabbed Crabbe's nose with his left hand and used his right hand to knock his left away. Crabbe yelped and rubbed his nose, then fluttered his left hand up and down in front of Goyle's face. While Goyle's head moved up and down following it, Crabbe slapped Goyle with his other hand. Goyle retaliated by making a V with his index and middle fingers and poking Crabbe in the eye. While Crabbe was rubbing his eyes, Goyle said, "Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk."

By that time, they'd reached the table, and Draco looked up at Harry and sneered.

"Well, well. It's Potty and _two_ Weasels. What do you losers want? Come to see how the better half lives?" The Slytherins all chuckled.

"Malfoy, that little trick you pulled at the game yesterday really sucked. And if Snape won't punish you for it, I reckon we'll have to figure out something ourselves. Watch your back, Malfoy. Gryffyndors stick together. C'mon, guys."

Harry, Ron and Fred (or he could've been George) headed toward the Gryffyndor table, as Draco yelled after them, "You don't scare me, Potter. I'm not afraid of the Cretin Who Lived."

Harry looked questioningly at Fred (or, you know, I'm starting to think it might be George). Fred (no, I'm almost sure it's George) winked and nodded. Harry grinned, and Ron said, "Awesome." The three sat down next to Hermione, Ginny and George (or possibly Fred, if Fred is really George).

Hermione looked at them suspiciously.

"What have you three been up to?" she asked, staring at a grinning Harry.

Fred (or- well, I dunno, maybe it is or maybe it isn't George) said, "Us, Hermione? We're pure as the driven snow."

Hermione snorted. "Only after the snow has hit the ground and been walked on so much it's turned to muddy slush. Now what's going on?"

Ron, grinning despite himself, said, "You're accusing us? That really _stinks,_ Hermione." Ron, Harry and Fred (or maybe… oh, the hell with it) all chuckled and grinned at each other.

Harry looked at his watch. "Should be any time now." They looked over at the Slytherin table. Hermione, Ginny and GeorgeFred looked too. Not much seemed to be happening.

Draco was still telling stories, his sycophants were still sniggering, and Crabbe was pouring pumpkin juice over Goyle's head.

Kindly old Professor Dumbledore entered the Great Hall and walked toward the Head Table, passing Draco and the other Slytherins as he did so. He stopped, sniffed at the air, and a glazed look came into his eyes. He turned to Draco.

"Mr. Malfoy. I was wondering if you might do me a little favor."

Draco looked suspicious, but only said, "Yes, Headmaster? What is it?"

"I have to go away for a week on school business. Would you mind filling in as Headmaster while I'm gone? I can't think of anyone who could do the job better than you."

Draco's mouth fell open, as did the mouths of every Hogwarts student in earshot. (Except Crabbe, whose mouth was already open while Goyle stuffed a pair of dirty socks in it.)

"Me? You want _me_ to take over as temporary Headmaster?"

"Exactly, Mr. Malfoy. I've always admired your fine intellect, your sense of fair play and justice, and those natty robes you always wear. In fact, why don't I retire and you can just take over," said Dumbledore. He waved over Professor McGonagall.

"Minerva, I've decided to retire and let Mr. Malfoy take my place. Please be as supportive of him as you have of me, and Hogwarts will be in excellent hands."

Professor McGonagall looked astounded, and inhaled sharply to ask Dumbledore if he was out of his mind. But before she could say anything, a dreamy look came into her eyes as well.

"Why, yes, Albus, I will. Mr. Malfoy is an excellent student and should be a fine Headmaster. Enjoy your retirement, and we'll be in quite capable hands here."

Harry and Ron, stunned, looked at each other. Hermione, coming around first, grabbed Harry's robes and pulled his face inches from hers. "What! Did! You! DOOOO!!"

Harry, choking, mumbled something. Ron looked stricken. "Do you reckon maybe yellow-_ish_ wasn't quite good enough?"


End file.
